Amor Vincit Omnia
by Maeneth
Summary: It's the sight of her dainty hand casually resting atop the Spanish Empire's elbow that makes his blood boil.
1. Chapter 1

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

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**Summary**: It's the sight of her dainty hand casually resting atop the Spanish Empire's elbow that makes his blood boil.

**Characters**:  
England - Arthur Kirkland  
Belgium - Marie 'Belle' Verlinden  
Spain - Antonio Fernandez Carriedo  
France - Francis Bonnefoy  
Austria - Roderich Edelstein

**Pairing**: England/Belgium and some Spain/Belgium

**Chapter**: 1/?

**Author's Note**: This story shows a different writing style then what you are probably used of me. It's less eloquent and lengthy, and more to the point. I wanted to try something among the lines of G.R.R. Martin's writing: short but strong sentences. I'm afraid I fell back into my usual routine a few times here, but for the most part I think I succeeded somewhat. In other words, if you like this fic and you like the style, be sure to leave a review. I need some feedback here. And if you bothered to read this a/n: enjoy!

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**Chapter 1**

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England had never been one for official events.

He had grown used to them under the days of Rome, but given the choice he would have rather been elsewhere then surrounded by flocks of ridiculously dressed nobles and scurrying servants.  
Unfortunately for him, his presence had been insisted upon, for it is not every day that a country acquires a new sovereign.

The year was 1559 and Elizabeth I had ascended the throne. He would not have guessed it at the time, but she would become one of his most beloved queens, not only by himself but by his people as well. The fiery devotion to her countrymen, her stubborn intelligence and her desire to do good was as vibrant as her red hair.

In just a few weeks time she would have to show that side of her. Combined with her wits and well-spoken manners she would convince the court that the subject of her choosing a husband was the least of their —England's— worries.

But for the moment, the newly crowned queen was a desirable match for any foreign king, prince or noble.

Which was why the whole court had assembled to congratulate her majesty, along with several foreign ambassadors... _and_ their nations.

"For the last time, Frog, I will **not** throw in a good word for _your_ Duke of Anjou as suitor for _my_ queen!"

"Ah, _Angleterre_, don't be so tedious," France calmly said as he put his ruff back in place where England had taken a hold of him. "An alliance between our two countries would be most advantageous for you, _mon cher_."

England's thick eyebrows lowered dangerously. "As if! Why in the world would I need you? You think because you took back Calais that I fear you now?" He tsk'ed. "You simply saved me from another French burden."

France smiled sourly at England's words and a challenging frown contorted his pretty features. "A marriage would keep any opposition from my nobles at bay, _cher Angleterre_. Not to mention, it would give _Écosse_ no reason to oppose your queen's rule."

At the mention of his older brother, England's furrowed brow lifted. Scotland —and more precisely, his queen Mary— could eventually become a problem, he was aware of that. France was widely present in his older brother's lands, and if England so much as stepped one toe out of line concerning Scotland, France would be upon him in the blink of an eye.

The Auld Alliance was still standing, and it was a threat that England could not easily brush of as unimportant.

"You are simply afraid of Austria and Spain surrounding you, choking you," England growled in retaliation, and when France crinkled his nose at his words, he knew he had found the true reason for his old enemy's whispered threats.

"Pfft, that is not true at all," the Frenchman said. "As if those two could ever frighten me."

England smirked triumphantly and was about to point out his little conversational victory when the crowd parted ways at the sound of a trumpet. England looked over the heads of his gathered nobility and his smirk grew. "Speaking of the Habsburgs..."

Down the middle of the courtroom, a delegation of Austrian and Spanish ambassadors stepped towards the dais where England's new queen was seated upon her golden throne. A herald announced their names and titles loudly whenever they kneeled down in front of her majesty.

England saw Austria first. Dressed in a doublet of Tyrian purple and a jerkin of highly embroidered leather, he looked every bit the stuffy aristocrat that he was. And behind him came Spain, dressed in his favourite shade of red —rosso corsa. His garments laced with professionally sown golden details and golden trinkets hanging from equally golden pins on his thick cloak.

_That arse_, England mentally grumbled. _He just can't resist flaunting his wealth, now can he?_

Momentarily occupied by that thought, England belatedly saw there was someone standing next to Spain, but due to the fact that the Spaniard's blindingly bright outfit and monstrosity of a cloak hid the stranger from view, the only thing England could distinguish was a maroon-coloured cone-shaped skirt sweeping over the floor.

France, being slightly taller than he was, was able to see the stranger's face and his voice was oddly unenthusiastic when he spoke, "Ah,... it seems like Spain did not come alone."

The moment Spain stepped aside to let his ambassadors take his place, England saw curls of molten gold and a heart-shaped face.

England felt like his ruff was choking him. The fabric seemed to scald his skin all the way down to his heart, only to have chills run back up his spine in repercussion. His eyes did not leave her form. He had not seen her for so long, and hers was a face he was glad to look upon. He was so focussed on the colour of her eyes and the shape of her lips that he did not notice the quick, sullen look France gave him.

The sound of instruments playing a Volta shook England out of his reverie, and it was only then that he let his eyes slide away from Belgae's face and down to her hands. When he saw her dainty porcelain fingers resting comfortably on Spain's arm, waving her other hand in front of her lips to cover up a giggle at something the Spanish Empire had whispered closely to the shell of her ear, England's eyes widened.

It felt like something heavy had plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

Maybe a rock.

Or maybe his heart.

The initial shock was quickly replaced by anger. As people crowded around them to either dance or watch those who danced, all England could see was red. He simply could not fathom why she would act so amicably with the country who now ruled over her, decided every matter in her name, taxed her people,...

He was still too focussed trying to burn a hole through Spain's chest, muttering incantations under his breath, that he barely felt France's sudden grip on his shoulder. It was only when he heard his low, hushed voice close to his ear that he saw the world again in a less vicious colour.

"Careful, _Angleterre_. Spain as he is now is not someone you want as your enemy."

England roughly shrugged France's hand away and gritted his teeth. "There is a difference between conquering child-colonies and battling a seasoned nation like myself, Frog."

"Marie is almost as old as you, _Angleterre_," France pointed out, "and as experienced in the ways of the world. As is her brother. And yet, they had not the strength nor the means to stop Spain from collecting them into his empire."

England was about to snap at France's words when he saw Belgae dusting of Spain's doublet, trailing the palms of her hands down his chest and laying them to rest there for far longer then propriety would allow. His snark reply died on the tip of his tongue, seeing green now instead of red.

"She doesn't seem to mind belonging to him, does she?"

France chuckled. "You are so easily fooled, _Angleterre_. As, no doubt, most men would be. She's merely _playing_ the part of subordinate nation. She may not have the physical strength, but _chère Marie_ has her wits and her charms to get what she wants."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem pleased with yourself when you say that."

"Well, I might have taught her a trick or two," France said cheerfully with his trademark, "Ohonhonhon~"

"You bleeding sack of dir—"

France merely held a finger in front of England's lips and the sheer proximity of anything smelling like French cheese close to his person made England choke on his insult. "What you have been too blind to see," France hummed, "is that our dearest Marie has been searching for you ever since she stepped into the room."

England reeled in his gag-reflex and glanced back towards Spain and Belgae when France's words had sunk in. Austria, having left his ambassadors behind, had Marie now standing in between the two Habsburg empires, and England's stomach knotted together rather pleasantly when he saw that, indeed, she was carefully scanning the large room ever so subtly.

If it really was him that she was looking for, though? He doubted it.

The contented feeling he had felt previously vanished completely. Why would she hold him in higher regard than any of the other nations in the room? She was more likely searching for France among the crowd. Not himself.

England barely had time to rearrange his thoughts when France grabbed him by the shoulders and started to push him forward.

"Stop over-thinking the situation," he chuckled. "Just go over there and welcome them. You are the host-country after all."

"H- Hey!" England protested as he was guided past rows and rows of humans and towards their fellow nations. "Stop pushing me you blasted Frenchie! I'm perfectly capable getting to them on my own!"

France grinned as the annoyed Brit shrugged him off with a growl. "Try to keep that _dreadful_ temper of yours contained, _Angleterre_. It would be very distasteful of you if this encounter ends in a declaration of war."

"As if you'd care whether it would end that way or not," England scoffed.

France shrugged, "I would not necessarily worry for you, _mon cher_. You've become quite the strong opponent," France smiled softly when he said so, remembering his fellow nation as the small, stubborn child he had once been. "But I dread to know what would happen to the countries under the Habsburgs' rule," his smile reduced to a small, thin line, "like Marie."

The fact that France was not talking lightly about the matter bothered England. Being one of the stronger nations on the continent, he most likely knew the full strength and power that lay beneath Spain's easy smiles and Austria's stuck-up attitude. He would never say so out loud, but England was about to heed France's words very carefully.

They were now only a few feet away from reaching their destination. A small cluster of noblemen and -women was the only obstacle that stood between them. England inhaled deeply to try and subdue the fluttering sensation in his stomach, and walked swiftly passed his gathered nobility.

"Arthur!"

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**_To be continued~_**

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**Translation**:

Angleterre = England (Fr.)  
Mon cher = my dear (Fr.)  
Écosse = Scotland (Fr.)  
Chère Marie = dear(est) Marie (Fr.)

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**Historical Information**:

Elizabeth I: was queen of England and Ireland from 17 November 1558 until her death on 24 March 1603. She was crowned on 15 January 1559. She was the fifth and last monarch of the Tudor dynasty and came to rule by the death of her half-sister, Mary. Despite numerous courtships, and despite the fact that Elizabeth's claim to the throne would become even more indisputable if she were to marry and produce an heir, she never did get married. She became famous for her virginity, earning her the title, ''The Virgin Queen'. Elizabeth I's reign lasted 44 years —also known as the Elizabethan Era— and raised England's status, forging a sense of national identity. It was England's start of a Golden Age.

The Auld Alliance: was the alliance between the kingdoms of Scotland and France. The alliance played a significant role in the relations between Scotland, France and England from its beginning in 1295 until the 1560 Treaty of Edinburgh. The alliance dates from the treaty signed by John Balliol and Philip IV of France in 1295 against Edward I of England. The terms of the treaty stipulated that if either country was attacked by England, the other country would invade English territory. The alliance played an important role in conflicts between both countries and England, such as the Hundred Years' War.

The Habsburg Empire: is an unofficial appellation among historians for the countries and provinces, which were ruled by the junior Austrian branch of the House of Habsburg until 1780, and then by the successor branch of Habsburg-Lorraine until 1918. The Monarchy was a composite state composed of territories within and outside the Holy Roman Empire, united in the person of the monarch.  
The senior branch of the House of Habsburg was the Spanish branch, while the Austrian branch was the junior branch. (Charles V had divided the dynasty between its Austrian and Spanish branches upon his abdication in 1556.) Each of them held several territories. Together they were called the Habsburg domain. There were several other countries that we know of today who were a part of the Habsburg Empire, such as Belgium, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Czech Republic, (parts of) France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Poland, Romania, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Switzerland and Ukraine.

In 1559: Elizabeth I of England is crowned and parliament passes the Act of Uniformity and the Act of Supremacy, re-establishing the Protestant Church of England. France makes peace with England and Spain (Peace of Cateau Canbrésis, 2 April), giving up most of its gains in Italy (a.k.a. Romano) but keeps the formerly English town of Calais, which he conquered four months prior. Philip II of Spain makes his half-sister Margaret of Parma governor of the Spanish Netherlands (a.k.a. Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg), who had to face the rising storms of discontent against the Inquisition and Spanish despotism. Belgium (mostly known then as 'Flanders') continued to be one of the richest and most developed regions in the world, as she was a very intelligent and cunning trades(wo)man. From the 16th century onward the area of Belgium served as the battleground between many European powers, causing it to be dubbed the "Battlefield of Europe", a reputation strengthened even more by both World Wars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter**: 2/?

**Author's Note**: I hope you enjoyed the banter between England and France in the previous chapter. It was my first time portraying these two characters and I hope I did well. Now we're going to meet characters that I'm more familiar with. Let's see how well countries can behave when forced to attend human events, and each other. Enjoy your read!

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**Chapter 2**

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_They were now only a few feet away from reaching their destination. A small cluster of noblemen and -women was the only obstacle that stood between them. England inhaled deeply to try and subdue the fluttering sensation in his stomach, and walked swiftly passed his gathered nobility._

_"Arthur!"_

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He was greeted by a smile so radiant, England wished there would come a time where he could wake up to that smile ever day.

But that thought evaporated quickly as he saw her dainty hand resting casually atop a red-cladded elbow that was not his own. So instead of returning her smile, he lowered his eyes and bowed, greeting her with a formal and almost solemn, "Marie."

Greeting the other countries in the same fashion, England saw out of the corner of his eyes how Belgae's smile morphed into a frown at his greeting and back towards a polite, unsuspicious expression in two seconds flat.

Well, it was crystal clear she could act.

"Congratulations England," Austria's drawl snapped him back to attention. "Your new queen seems... charming."

England did not like the Austrian's patronizing tone, but decided it was better to bite his tongue instead of calling him a wanker with a stick so far up his arse— Well, that would not be a very comfortable conversation, nor would it be seen as cordial either.

"Thank you," England answered curtly. "She's her father's daughter."

Austria sniffed. "Her father? Wasn't that the one who jumped from one wife to the next? Not exactly a role-model now, is he?"

"And since when do we judge our kings' and queens' capability to lead by the vices or virtues of matrimony?" England bit back, his eyes smouldering dangerously.

If possible, Austria stuck up his nose even higher in the air.

"Ugh," came France's sigh. "What an utterly _boring_ subject to talk about."

"_Quoi_?" Belgae smirked, happy to see her southern brother as he revealed himself to their gathered party, and relieved that someone was going to direct this conversation in less heated waters. "The subject of our royals?"

France shook his head, "_Mais non, Marie_. The subject of marriage! _l'Horreur_!"

Spain chuckled at his friend's involuntary shudder. "_Francia_ could not bear promising himself to one single person, _sí_?"

"Of course not," France said. "Think how disappointed the rest of the world would be!"

Belgae's laughter sounded like an array of silver bells. It was so contagious that aside from France and Spain, even Austria's lips lifted towards the sky. England couldn't stop a small smile from forming himself, though it was more due to the fact that Marie's eyes sparkled like emeralds and her nose crinkled in that cute way when she laughed. He only knew he had been staring when France nudged him in the side, hard.

He groaned inwardly. He was going to kill that frog-faced excuse of a country the next time they were alone together...

The uncomfortable silence that followed these few seconds of merriment should have been broken by himself, England knew this, but he had a hard time trying to be polite towards these Habsburg threats, silently mingling with his countrymen, leaving whispers and spies everywhere. The only one he wanted to see was most likely the one person he would not be able to talk to separately.

"Now, Antonio, Roderich," France interrupted whatever weak attempt England was going to spew as a form of social interaction. "You both must be _dying_ to know how I am fairing on the main land, _non_?"

The two addressed nations looked at each other curiously. They would have asked France about his intentions if said nation had not already hooked both his arms through one of their own and started to lead them towards the back of the room.

"Let me invite you to a seat and a glass of red wine and I will tell you all about my latest victories. Allons-y!"

Spain just had time to take a hold of Belgae's hand, squeezing it lightly. "Are you coming, _querida_?"

Marie gave him a smile. "Thank you for the offer, Antonio, but..." She looked straight at Arthur, "I won't be alone."

Spain's brow lifted at her words and he followed her gaze, looking at England with a warning behind that lazy smile of his. "_Bueno_," he said and he pulled Belgae close to his chest so he could kiss her full on the lips. "If you get bored, just come and find me."

"I will," Belgae smiled and held on to his hand for as long as she could, while France pulled him and Austria away.

England wanted to punch the wall. And one particular tanned nose as well.

The moment Belgae's focus was back on him, she rolled her eyes. "Why, Arthur," she cooed, "you look practically homicidal."

Not in the mood for teasing —seeing Spain kiss her like that had felt as though someone had stabbed him through the heart, repeatedly— England scowled and turned his back on her, ready to walk away.

"Oh Arthur, don't be like that." She took a hold of his hand before he had the chance to disappear into the crowd. "Don't walk away from me."

"And why shouldn't I?" he snapped, eyes not entirely meeting hers. "You seem quite at ease with your new _companions_. Why not join them and leave me to my countrymen?"

Her hand had loosened its grip when he had hissed out the word 'companions' and as England forced himself to look up from the floor he saw the pain in her eyes. He instantly regretted his outburst. Small though as it had been.

"Please," her voice sounded hoarse, "it's been so long since we last met and had a chance to talk."

He did not trust himself to speak yet.

"I looked for you the minute we stepped foot into this courtroom," Belgae continued, sounding somewhat afraid that England would not believe her. "I so longed to see you."

_So... she _had _been searching for me?_

England felt all his previous anger and resentment melt away in an instant. It had been too long indeed, and he would never forgive himself if he pushed her away, now that they finally had a few moments to themselves. He had never cared for the friendship of other countries. They had ignored him or even tried to hurt him when he was still young, unimportant. He did not need their outstretched hands and hypocrite smiles now that he was growing stronger, making a name for himself.

There was only one country who had never disappointed him. Who had never changed the way she acted around him for the sake of personal enrichment. Who had never commanded her guilds to stop trading with him, even though it got her into trouble more times than not. Who had never tried to trick him in signing forced alliances.

Only her.

And he would be a fool if he threw her friendship away.

Even if, deep down, the realisation began to form that he wanted more than her friendship.

He could not say so out loud though, so he just took her hand and started to lead her away from the crowd, from unwanted ears.

He let out a sigh of relief when she understood his meaning instantly. "You're right," he could hear the smile in her voice, "we should go somewhere more private for such a rare occasion as this. I'd prefer it if we weren't interrupted prematurely."

She knew him too well.

He took her to one of the more modest rooms the castle had to offer, adjacent to the courtroom but far enough so that the versatile clamour of music, talk and laughter was veiled by the heavy curtain separating the two rooms. The dull grey of the walls was broken by a variety of tapestries, candles and flowers, splashing the room with vibrant colours, and there were several comfortable, cushioned chairs to pick from if you wanted to rest your legs. There was even a storage of wine and ale caskets aligning one particular wall and when he noticed this, England awkwardly broke the silence by asking Belgae if she preferred wine or beer.

"Beer, of course," she said, "I drink enough wine as it is now. Antonio finds beer is for the people who cannot afford wine, you see."

England clenched his jaw as he handed a goblet filled to the brim with —what he thought should be its official name— liquid gold to her, "he hasn't tasted your beers then, has he?"

Belgae gratefully took the offered drink and grinned as she knew perfectly well that was probably the most polite thing her fellow country could think off to say on the subject. "No," she hummed, "he hasn't. Doesn't even want any of it brought to his house, if you can imagine."

"Well, then he's an idiot," England scowled, "he doesn't know what he's missing out on."

Belgae's grin turned almost feline. "More for us then, _niet waar_?"

"More for us," he agreed and they touched their goblets together before taking a big gulp each.

Looking over the brim of his cup, England took in Belgae's whole appearance for the first time that evening. She looked breathtaking in her floor-length, fitted gown with narrow sleeves lined in white and silver. The forepart of her petticoat was made of an even richer fabric then the brocade of her French gown, making it look almost like starlight as it absorbed all the flecks of light the several candles in the room emitted. Above, she wore a boned, heavy corset, compressing her torso into a small triangular shape ending in a V, held together by crossed laces at the side-back seam, and a broad, low, square neckline in front that showed just how much Marie had grown over the past few centuries. (England had to quickly avert his eyes when he realised what he had just been thinking, a redness spreading from his neck to the very tips of his ears.)  
Resting atop her chest was a necklace in beaded gold with a golden-ringed ruby hanging down the centre. And just above it was another golden chain, a pure golden cross hanging heavy at the height of her collarbone.  
Her hair was long, as it was custom for women in that day and age, and parted in the centre. The frontal locks of hair were pulled back so all attention was directed towards the rosiness of her cheekbones, the kohl-framed pools of green that were her eyes and her red, _red_ lips. The remainder of her dark golden hair fell like a waterfall of tumbling curls down her back.

England felt like a peasant in his forest-green long-sleeved, stiff doublet and matching trunk hose; and his hair was an even greater mess than his appearance.

"You're staring," Marie's amused voice shook him out of his reverie.

England felt his cheeks warm up as he realised her mild accusation to be true, and he apologized in a barely audible mumble.

Marie looked herself over. "I look like a peacock don't I?" she laughed, not aware of the fact that Arthur had been admiring her appearance, instead of silently mocking it. "The fashion of this century is nothing short of ridiculous."

"It _is_ rather extravagant," England had to agree.

_Though I bet you would look beautiful even in nothing more than a felted bag._

He did not say it out loud.

Belgae smiled, turned around and made herself as comfortable as she could with a skirt that big in one of the cushioned chairs. "Before either of us start up a conversation about the weather...," she waved her hand to the chair diagonally in front of her, silently inviting Arthur to sit. (Even though courtesy would have had it the other way around.) "Francis can only give us so long..."

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**_To be continued~_**

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**Translation**:

Quoi = What (Fr.)  
Mais non, Marie = (But) no, Marie (Fr.)  
l'Horreur = the horror (Fr.)  
Francia = France (Sp.)  
Sì = yes (Sp.)  
Non = no (Fr.)  
Allons-y = Let's go (Fr.)  
Querida = (my) darling (Sp.)  
Bueno = okay/good (Sp.)  
Niet waar = is it not/right (Dutch)

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**Historical Info**:

Belgae: The name I use to represent Belgium from, approximately, the 5th century until 1830 (the year where she gained her independence and officially named herself) is Belgae. During Celtic and Roman times the inhabitants of Belgium, northwestern France, and the German Rhineland were known as the _Belgae_ and they were considered to be the northern part of Gaul. (The Romans, according to Julius Caesar's _'De Bello Gallico'_ , had made a Roman province of her land, called _Gallia Belgica_.) Modern day Belgium was named after the _Belgae_, which is the main reason why I chose that name for her during those centuries. This is by no means a correct name for the several duchies, counties and bishoprics that made up Belgium at that time. I simply picked a name for her that she had already worn in her previous history, a name that she would be proud off —seeing as the great Rome had been in awe at the warlike nature and strength of her people during the Roman conquest, calling the _Belgians_ the bravest of all the Gauls.  
A name that other countries knew her by, simply because of the reputation it had given her, even though she evolved into a more peace-loving country later on and her interests turned to trade instead of war.

Languages: For those of you who are confused by Belgium speaking both French and Dutch. Those are her two official languages. They might be called differently (Walloon and Flemish) and have a different dialect than the authentic French and Dutch, but they are basically the same. (A very small part of Belgium also speaks German, so actually she has three official languages, but I found two would already be more than confusing.)


End file.
